Free Second to None by Alexander Kent

be hard, perhaps for all of them. Bryan Ferguson had told her that he and her John had been pressed together here in Cornwall, and taken to a King’s ship in Falmouth. Bolitho’s ship. What had grown from that unlikely meeting was stronger than any rock.
    Here on the edge of the little village of Fallowfield, it was not like Brixham or Falmouth. Farm workers and passing tradesmen were more common than men of the sea. But therewould still be talk. Everyone knew the Bolitho family. And Catherine was in London, they said. There would be more ceremonies there; how could she endure it? There was gossip enough in any town or village. How much worse it must be in the city.
    She heard her brother descending the stairs, the regular thump of his wooden leg. His spar, John Allday called it.
    â€˜Little Kate’s fast asleep.’ He limped towards her. ‘Still thinking on it, Unis love? We’ll make it right for him, see?’
    â€˜Thank you for that, John. I don’t know what I’d have done –’ She looked into his face and froze, unable to move. She whispered, ‘Oh, dear God, make my man happy again!’
    The sound of Bryan Ferguson’s pony and trap seemed louder than it had ever been.
    She tugged at her skirt and pushed some hair from her face again.
    â€˜I can’t! I can’t!’
    Nobody moved, nobody spoke. He was suddenly just there, filling the entrance, his hat in one hand, his hair shaggy against the sunlight.
    She tried to speak, but instead he held out his arms, as though unable to come forward. Her brother remembered it for a long time afterwards. John Allday, who had rescued and won his only sister, was in the room, as if he had never been away.
    He was wearing the fine blue coat with the gilt buttons bearing the Bolitho crest, which had been made especially for him, and nankeen breeches and buckled shoes. The landsman’s ideal of the English sailor, the Heart of Oak. So easily said by those who had not shared the horrors of close action at sea or on land.
    John Allday held her close against him, but gently, as he would a child or some small animal, and touched her hair, her ears, her cheek, afraid he might hurt her in some way, unable to let go of her.
    He thought he heard a door close, very quietly. They were alone. Even his best friend Bryan was silent, out there with his fat little pony named Poppy.
    â€˜You’re a picture, Unis.’ He tilted her chin with the same care. ‘I’ve thought about this moment for a long time.’
    She asked, ‘The officer, Mister Avery?’
    Allday shook his head. ‘Stayed with the ship. Thought he was needed.’ He held her away from him, his big hands cupping her shoulders, his eyes moving over her, as if he was only now realising what had happened.
    She stood quite still, feeling the strength, the warmth of his hard hands. So strong and yet so unsure, so wistful.
    â€˜You’re here. That’s all I care about. I’ve missed you so much, even when I tried to be with you over the miles . . .’ She broke off. She was not reaching him even now.
    Suddenly he took her hand in his, and led her like a young girl to the nook where his model, his first gift to her, was carefully mounted.
    â€˜I was there, y’ see. All the while. Comin’ home, we was. We’d got the orders. I never seen such a change in the man.’ He looked at her with something like anguish. ‘Comin’ home. What we both wanted.’
    They sat down on a scrubbed wooden bench, side by side, like strangers. But he held her hand, and spoke so quietly that she had to put her head against his arm to hear him.
    â€˜He often asked about you an’ little Kate.’ The sound of the child’s name seemed to unsteady him. ‘Is she safe? An’ well?’
    She nodded, afraid of breaking the spell. ‘You’ll see.’
    He smiled, something faraway. Perhaps another memory.
    He said,